e,
biddable creature he was, stable and passive in the jar of the
overturned world. He pointed to the table.

"Sit there, my good Haase," he ordered. "I will dictate you a
telegram. Not code this time, plain German!"

He resumed his to-and-fro walk while Herr Haase established himself.

"Direct it to our private address in the Wilhelmstrasse," he ordered.
"Then write: 'You are to carry out orders previously communicated.
Send Von Specht forthwith, avoiding all delay. Telegraph hour of his
departure and keep me informed of his progress. No objections to this
order are to be entertained.'"

"'Entertained,'" murmured Herr Haase, as he wrote the last word.

"Sign it as before," directed the Baron. "You see, Von Wetten, it was
too soon!"

Von Wetten had not moved; he sat staring at the Baron. His hand
twitched and the dead cigar fell to the floor.

"I don't care," he burst out, "it's wrong; it's not worth it nothing
could be. I'd be willing to go a long way, but a Prussian officer!
It's, it's sacrilege. And a wounded man at that!"

The Baron did not smile but mirth was in his face. "That was an
afterthought, Von Wetten," he said "the wounded man part of it." He
turned to Herr Haase impatiently.

"Off with you!" he commanded. "Away, man, and get that message sent!
Let me have the replies as they arrive. No, don't wait to bow and say
good night; run, will you!"

His long arm, in the wide sleeve of the gown, leaped up, pointing to
the door. Herr Haase ran.

Obediently as a machine, trotting flat-footed over the cobbles of the
midnight streets, he ran, pulling up at moments to take his breath,
then running on again. Panting, sweating, he lumbered up the steps of
the telegraph office and thrust the message through the grille to the
sleepy clerk.

"What is Von Specht?" grumbled the clerk. "Is this a cipher-message?"

"No," gasped Herr Haase. "Can't you read? This is plain German!"

Herr Haase, one has gathered, was not afflicted with that weakness of
the sense which is called imagination. Not his to dream dreams and
see visions; nor, while he tenderly undressed himself and put himself
into his bed, to dwell in profitless fancy over the message he had
sent, bursting like a shell among the departments and administrations
which are the body of Germany's official soul. Nor later either, when
the spate of replies kept him busy decoding and carrying them down to
the Baron, did he read into them more than the bare impor